


i'll stop time for you

by goreallegore



Series: lets learn to love [2]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Amnesia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 20:01:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8223085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goreallegore/pseuds/goreallegore
Summary: There is silence a beat too long. Stretching and engulfing, and he’s drowning. But also it’s as if he’s breathing again. He closes his eyes to focus on the dance studio, his fingers naturally going to the figurine in his pocket, pressing lightly. A scene, first of the many, unfolds in front of him and he remembers another starry night - a picnic, Seoul, and Sehun. Or; Kai forgets, and Sehun helps him remember. Sort of. Amnesia Au.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back with terribly cheesy writing about my favs. this is the second makanae line i'm in love with but in reality kai is my 1.5 and he's pretty cool, ain't he? sehun is lovely too. anyway please be kind with my first ever exo fic and i hope you adore sekai as much as i do. oh, and this one goes out to em who won't shut up about how beautiful kai is :')
> 
> title from: treat u better by shawn mendes.

It smells like anti-septic. Pungent, and raw. 

 

He wrinkles his nose in disgust, the smell too much this early in the morning, especially with how he struggles to peel his eyes open. Finally, once he does, he takes in his bare surroundings, monitors beeping to his side, and rusty old chair pushed against the wall the bed is facing. Everything is stark white. It unsettles him, and he’s unsure why he’s here. 

 

Turning his head to the side he finds the television on, it’s hoisted on a ledge that’s protruding diagonally from the corner wall, but the volume is muted. The room is brightened from the overhead light, but he can tell it’s dark outside past the closed curtains. Visiting hours must’ve ended a while ago. Turning on his side he arches his neck up to watch the gag show running with subtitles under it, this stout old man talking his daughter out of dating the boy cowering behind her, and it’s when he’s shifting he feels a stab of something into his wrist. He paws near the pillow where his hand was and finds a small figurine of a ballerina. Cut in silver her waistline gives way to her bowed legs; one leg lifting and the other pressing into the palm of his hand. 

 

He’s thoroughly confused. 

 

The next time Jongin wakes up he’s not alone. He can tell cause there are people talking in hushed voices, so instead of opening his eyes, he hears in. A throw of medical terms, and an extended sigh later, he’s left with just one person in the room. They take the sole seat in the room and pull it forward, it screeches against the tiled floor which makes him cringe inwardly, but their presence itself isn’t uncomfortable. Once the sound settles into silence of his breathing he feels fingers ghosting around the curve of his ankle, nimble. Careful.

 

“Come back home, Kai,” they say. It sounds broken. Jongin almost lets go of his act, feeling bad enough to ask who Kai is, but something in his chest aches to tell him he’s meant to know already. 

 

\--

 

A man named Suho is there when he’s being discharged. He introduces himself as Junmyeon, but corrects himself to say, “I prefer Suho, though.” Jongin doesn’t understand why the two names, but he knows better to not ask. The doctor prescribes him a list of medications, one with names he’s heard in passing he thinks, and others that go over his head cause he can’t even begin to pronounce them. Regardless, the list is long. He’s not looking forward to them.

 

He’s given a pair of sweats and a hoodie to change into before leaving which isn’t unusual. What is though is how soft and lived in they are, but mostly how they don’t look particularly cheap - used to the T, but not cheap. He pulls them on and runs a hand through his hair which is slightly greasy towards the center. He’s overdue a shower, he figures. When he steps out into his assigned room Suho is waiting for him, hands folded in his lap with a duffle bag placed near his foot, he looks up with something amiss in his eyes, “Ready?”

 

Jongin learns that Suho and him are friends, and that he lives with 7 other boys aside from him in a dormitory. What he doesn't understand is that he’s meant to be 21 years old according to all the release forms he signed - even though last he remembers he was preparing to study for college entrance exams - yet he’s in a shared living arrangement with other boys? Everything seems muddled, but he keeps quiet. 

 

Suho keys the door open, stopping short of entering to turn back and ask, “They’re nice. They adore you.”

 

Funny, he believes him. There is something disarmingly trustful about the way he looks up at him, as if he’s meant to protect him, and right now with all the hazy thoughts taking a front seat in his brains he lets him. 

 

The dormitory is sleek, and surprisingly clean in all the right parts. There are no rats crawling around, nor leftovers, that he’d imagined to be the case of a boys’ dormitory. It’s messy though with the way a hoodie is splayed out on the back of the couch he sees as soon as he enters, a collection of comics dispersed on the little coffee table, someone’s shoes lying near the staircase. Jongin thinks it seems lived in. The best part though is how he’s welcomed with warmth and rush of smell of food filtering from what seems to be the kitchen that Suho is leading him to. Upon entrance he finds a tall boy, a couple inches even more than him, slouching over the stove. The exhaust is on, but he can catch a whiff of the broth he’s mixing with the ladle. 

 

“Is that soup?” Suho asks, tugging out the seat under the island in the center of the kitchen. The boy startles at that, his shoulders jumping, but he quickly regains his composure flashing a bright smile to both Suho and Jongin, equally loving. 

 

“Yep! Thought you’d like that?” he asks that to Jongin. And for a second he stutters, but ends up nodding. He notices the boy is traditionally pretty, long limbs, dark hair, a beautiful shape to his eyes. Reckons he’s not unfamiliar to female attention. 

 

Suho coughs, but it seems fake, and the tall boy sputters again, limbs everywhere until he’s bowing a little, “My name is Park Chanyeol and I’m your housemate.”   
  


Jongin feels a swell of affection in his chest, soft, kinda muted. 

 

“Kim Jongin,” he introduces, but he doesn’t know if he really had to.

 

\--

Living in a dormitory isn’t that strange he finds out. Supposedly, he used to share a room with Chanyeol but since his impromptu trip to the hospital the boys decided to give him one of the single rooms. It’s far too spacious from his room he had back home, one he’d shared with one of his sisters until she was older and demanded to move in with the other girls because Jongin was a boy and sweaty after dance practice, and didn’t share her sentiment towards fashion. He never quite understood his noona. 

 

So, he gets his own room. It doesn’t seem like his because someone else lived in it - Baekhyun, he remembers. The short fella with the loudest laugh he’s heard. He’s only met him once because he had to leave due to work purposes, but it had been a pleasure. Then there is Kyungsoo who’s terribly sweet to him, Minseok who doesn’t say much but is kind, Chen who hums radio tunes which he knows like the back of his hand, Lay who he has yet to meet, and Chanyeol who’s been helping him familiarize with the house. There’s Sehun, too, but something tells Jongin he’s being avoided by him. A part of him sincerely hopes he didn’t upset him in anyway. He doesn’t remember much of who he was before with these boys, but the thought of hurting them is entirely unpleasant. 

 

The ache in his ribs has alleviated, now. It’s been two weeks since his discharge and he can go about daily routine without being too bothered, or restrained, Most of his time is spent reading, or watching telly. And when the boys’ aren’t working or mysteriously disappearing for a day or two consecutively he spends it with them. But he likes Chanyeol best, he decides. 

 

“Bored?” he glances up from where he’s sitting on the floor, legs spread out, with a box that contains an assortment of movies alphabetically arranged. Apparently, Minseok can be slightly neurotic about their collection. 

 

Jongin smiles, already buzzing, “Trying to find something to watch. Are you done for today?”

 

He catches Chanyeol wincing, but that quickly passes over as he squats down next to him, “Sorry, we keep leaving. We’re meant to take care of you.”

 

A surge of heat rises in his cheeks as Chanyeol knocks their shoulders together, “It’s okay. I get by.”

 

Chanyeol reaches to grab the case for Iron Man 3, and Jongin wants to say he doesn’t remember the first two much - or, at all for that matter - but he stays quiet accepting Chanyeol’s company. They settle on the sofa that faces the TV. It is one of those newer ones’ and he loves how pixelated the frames are, lucid flow of colors bursting through the screen. Once it starts he figures he remembers parts of it, certain dialogue pieces that fall from his tongue while Tony is saying them, and it’s when he blows up the rest of his suits - the shrill explosion sounds too much - it comes to him when he last saw it. The scene similar to a fuzzy blanket shrouding his thoughts; it was him, and someone -

 

“Jongin?” Chanyeol touches his shoulder, warm fingers pressing into the fabric of his hoodie. He wants to reach over and arch into the touch, but something stops him, a niggling at the back of his mind. 

 

“Sorry, I just. Have we seen this before? Like together?” He asks.

 

Chanyeol pauses drawing back his hand, and Jongin immediately regrets asking - the warmth left behind ceasing. But then just like all times before the tension passes, and he gives him one of those smiles, “Yeah, a while back. Went to the theatres for it.”   
  


_ Sounds fun _ , he thinks. Doing stuff together, going out, not being cooped in the dorms like a caged animal. Though he knows it isn’t Chanyeol’s fault, or anyone else for that matter. this is just how things are right now whether he likes it or not. There is still a the thought at the tip of his tongue. One that make his heart beat a tad faster, but he doesn’t get to ask cause Chanyeol’s phone buzzes. He peers down at the caller ID and smiles to himself.

 

It’s  _ different _ . 

 

There is a hint of fondness in it that is absent from the ones he gives Jongin, and that sparks uneasiness in the pit of his stomach, his own eyes not being quick enough to catch the name. Chanyeol shyly ducks away saying he needs to attend this, and excuses himself to his - what was their - shared room. Sighing he lugs himself to the room he’s staying not bothering to close the door behind himself, and just like that his mood tanks. 

 

He settles on the bed taking in a deep breath only to fall on his back and pressing an arm over eyes, but in doing so he catches the glint of the small ballerina sitting on his side table. Unbothered. He reaches over to grab it, and marvels at the finishing, running his fingers along the curve of her skirt, and her thin arms. Strangely enough it’s the inanimate object that makes him feel better so he presses it close to his chest closing his eyes once more. He doesn’t know how long passes when there is a knock on the door, jostling him upright only to have the toy figurine fall to the floor with a clank. 

 

Jongin hurries to pick it up but so does the intruder - he gets to it first picking it up just as delicately as had held it. Sehun stares at it in disbelief rubbing the top of her bun which makes Kai entirely self-conscious. 

 

He rubs at his elbow, trying to conjure up an excuse for what exactly he isn’t sure, but Sehun interrupts him, “You still have this…”

 

With an incline of his head he nods, timidly asking, “Do you know what it is?”   
  


Sehun glances up, blinking, “Yeah, I gave it to you on your 19th.” 

 

That is nice, Jongin thinks. Sehun adds on, thoughtfully, “You wanted to do ballet. Be an instructor if this didn’t workout.”

 

“What’s  _ this _ ?” he prods, closer to attaining information about who he is, or was. 

 

Shaking his head, Sehun smiles, and that’s a first because ever since his arrival Jongin hasn’t had the opportunity to be on the receiving end of it. Or anything quite frankly regarding Sehun. 

 

He looks at the ballerina again, rubbing at her skirt with the pad of his thumb, and then folding her entirely in his palm. Looking up, he says, “Hello, I’m Oh Sehun.”

 

Jongin shakes his hand, slipping their palms together, “You wouldn’t happen to know how a fella is supposed to get to know himself again, would ya?”

 

Cackling, a cascading high pitched laugh, he says, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

 

\--

Sehun brings him to the dance studio that weekend. He isn’t aware it is one until the lights are being turned on and the he’s faced with mirrored walls, and peeling cloud wallpaper. The place looks well used, broken down from tear and wear, but the oddest part is that it seems more familiar than anything has in a long time. He drops the duffel bag he’d been carrying and goes to touch the banister lining one the walls, touching the scratchy metal, and sees his own disjointed reflection in it. 

 

Somewhere behind him Sehun shuffles about towards the main speaker system, turning on the home button, and picking a playlist on his iPod, “This one is your favorite.”

 

The beat creeps in with a steady bass in the back, the hair on his forearms rising, and he can feel his entire body reacting. His feet tap against the linoleum involuntarily maneuvering his body to shift and loosen his limbs, but there is still hesitance on his part, one that bridges from the column of his throat to the heavy set of limbs clinging to him. Dizziness sets in first but he doesn’t get a chance to appeal to his nervous self, a pair of hands coming to grip around his wrists, “It’s okay.”

 

Jongin peers up at Sehun through hooded eyes, the slanted lighting of the studio making a part brighter than the rest, and Sehun stands tall among it all, “Follow my lead.”

 

There is a hint of mischief in the way his eyes sparkle as Jongin watches him take a step back. The distance is sparse but enough for him to spread about and play with his footwork. The beat is still playing on repeat, going high and then dropping, and Sehun moves along to it his feet folding and then spreading, his arms stretching only to come back and tying with one another. 

 

There is such a thing as fluid movements where one plays along to the music but with Sehun it seems the opposite. The droning of the heavy trap hip-hop is fading into each move and it is almost like Sehun is  _ controlling _ the music. Naturally so he follows after him, copying each movement and bringing his knees to kiss and then fall apart, and the whole charade seems intimate. Like dance is  _ his _ . The steady beat of his heart spikes as the moves get more aggressive, the planes of his taut stomach stretching when he bends back to tap the floor with his palm, and then just as smoothly bringing himself upright. 

 

He elbows the air and jerks his head sideways, and then as the beat segues towards the end, Sehun now not even participating but instead just watching how Jongin maneuvers himself. His eyes focus on his reflection in the mirror facing an old friend, one he’s missed, and there is a quirk to his lips, his breathing rising to match his pace. His skin slick with sweat flushed a rosy red, his body angling itself carefully, and his steps seems succinct. Not rehearsed but matching his speed, his capacity, and then he urges himself to push at the the last note. Flattening his right foot against the side of his left leg, he spins brilliantly, managing a pirouette without breaking into a fall.

Once he stops spinning the room pin-drop silent save his ragged breaths, he collapses on the floor, starry eyed, and closes his eyes. Soft hair tickles his forehead and he opens his eyes to find Sehun looking down at him, his face too close to Jongin’s, “Welcome back.”

 

“Thanks for having me,” he says in-between breaths.

 

\--

 

Jongin sees Sehun most. They spend hours cooped in the studio but when his chest expands to catch a breath, and when his clothes cling to him from sweat, he knows he’s happiest. The boys still disappear randomly, but now Jongin knows why. He saw the trophies lining the room that isn’t used much, he heard Kyungsoo adlib to a song Chen showed him, and he sees Chanyeol drumming the counter humming tunes he’s sure don’t have written words attached to it. So, he knows he’s in a band. He thinks,  _ it’s cool _ .

 

“So, you’re the rapper?” Jongin asks, grabbing a handful of chips, and sipping on the cheap wine box he’d found tucked away in one of the kitchen cabinets. 

 

“And dancer,” Sehun corrects. “Mostly, Chanyeol does the bigger parts.”

 

“Does that bother you?” Jongin asks, wincing at how rude it might sound.

 

“No, he’s my best friend. Besides, I get to dance too which he’s quite terrible at.”   
  


Jongin gazes past the starry lights of Seoul, softer now that they’re ebbing away from Summer and into fall, a chilly draft making him shiver, “Seems that we have it good.”

 

“For the most part, yeah.”

 

Chanyeol is still ever-so kind to him, and Jongin can’t help but steal glimpses of the way his arms flex when he’s reaching spices for Kyungsoo when the two decide to cook. Or when he, the self-appointed handyman of the band, trudges in and squats to fix the height of Suho’s bed, or fix the wonky door handle of the bathroom. Normal or not, he notices, and so he asks Sehun. 

 

“Did I always like men?” he’s drawing patterns in the grass, the part that the blanket doesn’t cover. He’s laying on his stomach meanwhile Sehun is leaning on his elbows, staring out towards the city, his eyes omniscient. 

 

“I think you liked everyone,” he gives him instead. He takes it though, isn’t in a place to question because Sehun already has given him so much, made him feel more like himself. A self that he’s grappling to be, and understanding to become. Maybe, he’s already there. 

 

“Chanyeol Hyung is nice,” he says in passing. Sehun just hums. 

 

\--

 

Baekhyun arrives a week after Sehun and Jongin’s impromptu late night picnic. Apparently, he’d been shooting for a new drama series he’s starring in, and everyone is well happy. Chen setting aside the movies they’re going to watch, Xiumin compiling the comics he read while Baekhyun was gone, Suho revising the schedule and making sure the housekeeper made the extra bed in Chanyeol’s room. Jongin’s ex room, he mentally notes. Kyungsoo doesn’t cook that night because Chanyeol wants to, and Lay is already planning a trip to Hongdae for all of their mutual break. It’s sweet how everyone is willing to invest time into one another even when they live together.

 

The ballerina is sitting in the pockets of his sweatpants, something he takes everywhere with him, and before entering the kitchen he grips on to it. Good luck, he convinces himself. 

 

“Hyung,” Jongin says immediately noticing Sehun sitting on the counter legs dangling and biting on a baby carrot. Him being there eases the knot in his chest, his limbs relaxing, “Did you need help?”

 

Chanyeol wide-eyed, haphazardly running around to make sure everything is set, “The two of you are terrible in the kitchen. So, no, but I appreciate it. Just make sure that the table is set, yeah?”

 

Jongin nods, nudging Sehun’s knee with his elbow, jerking his head to the cupboard where they keep the dishes. They both split the stack of ceramic plates, and the stainless steel cutlery, and move on to set the dining table. Regardless of the schedule they make sure to eat together if present. Tradition or something Kyungsoo called it. 

 

Baekhyun is loud. Jongin had forgotten about that. He tackles him ruffling his hair and presses a kiss to his temple swiftly moving to take a spot in one of the open chairs, and digging in. Jongin finds the surge of affection odd, but granted for someone like Baekhyun, he seems half in love with the world it seems. There is something endearing about that; the genuine optimism. What Jongin doesn’t like, or more like understand, is how antsy Chanyeol is the entire time. Fidgeting with his fork, touching his sideburns which is  _ his _ nervous tick, scarfing food and then slowing down to scarf it all over again. 

 

Frowning he turns to his own untouched plate contemplating why he’s feeling off the kilter today of all days. Sehun notices because of course he does and squeezes his thigh, and just like that the anxiousness vanishes. He looks up offering a smile which is wholly returned.  _ It’s going to be okay. _

 

After dinner he washes up prepping himself for bed even though he’s not really tired. A couple of minutes into his unsuccessful slumber he decides to find Chanyeol who you can without a fail always count on being awake, and trudges over to the direction of his room. The door to his room is slightly ajar but instead of rambling in unannounced he goes to knock only to stop short of a familiar voice.

 

“I’m surprised they didn’t kick you off the set first day of shooting,” Chanyeol chuckles at his own joke. The pitch of his voice different from what Jongin’s heard before. He sounds... _ happy _ .

 

“Har Har, did you not have anyone to test your lame jokes on while I was gone?” another voice breaks in.  _ Baekhyun _ . 

 

“Nope,” Chanyeol says popping the ‘p’, pauses and then says, “No one quite loves me enough to stand them. Not even Sehun will listen anymore.”   
  


“And I do?” Baekhyun teases, his voice soft. 

 

“More than the rest, yes,” Chanyeol says with such confidence that something clicks in Jongin’s head. The phone calls, the texts, the need to impress with dinner.  _ Chanyeol - _

 

“Gross, who tells you this nonsense,” he hears a thwack, and figure Baekhyun probably smacked his shoulder or something. Jongin wants to leave so bad but his feet seem to be planted to the ground. 

 

“You,” again with the confidence. “When you call at the most random hours to tell me terribly minute things like someone put cucumber in your food. Everything you do sounds like an I love you to me.”

 

Baekhyun makes a gagging noise not saying anything else, until. “I guess I do.”

 

“What?”

 

“Love you.”

 

Jongin stands there blinking drawing his knuckles back to his chest, cradling his fist, and even though his heart is threatening to burst he doesn’t feel  _ sad _ . His feet start on their own guiding him to another room, flashes like a picture being taken curtain his thoughts, one after another. And suddenly it’s too much stimulus, he’s breathing hard, and racing and knocking hard on a door. It flings open with a slightly disgruntled Sehun who quickly transitions into being more cautious, “Ka- I mean, Jongin what’s wrong?”

 

“They’re together? Chanyeol and -”

 

Sehun’s eyes widen but Jongin can’t think about that. He can’t think because everything is bursting in, breaking through the fog suspended around his memories, like a punch to the gut. He pushes past Sehun into his room, his first time since the discharge, and so much more comes reeling in. His eyes darting to the picture on the nightstand of the two of them with arms slung around each other’s shoulder.

 

“Jongin?” his voice a touch gentler.

 

“We’re friends, right?” Jongin asks, not turning. Not looking. 

 

“Yes.”

 

Jongin pauses collecting the words at the tip of his tongue. Careful, he reminds himself, “Are we more?”

There is silence a beat too long. Stretching and engulfing, and he’s drowning. But also it’s as if he’s breathing again. He closes his eyes to focus on the dance studio, his fingers naturally going to the figurine in his pocket, pressing lightly. A scene, first of the many, unfolds in front of him and he remembers another starry night - a picnic, Seoul, and Sehun. 

 

“You didn’t tell me,” Jongin finally says.

 

A warm press of fingers come to touch his hand where it’s flat against his pocket, the same one where the ballerina sits, and Sehun says, “I wanted you to remember on your own.”

 

“I could’ve fallen for him,” Jongin refutes, feeling childish, and helpless. Everything making sense like finding the pieces to a puzzle he’d long started. He never liked Chanyeol. Not in that way, no. He was just placing a feeling to a face, albeit the wrong one,  _ he was searching _ . 

 

Sehun rests his chin on Jongin’s shoulder, his breath warm on the side of his face, “I trust you more than that.”

 

“I don’t remember anything. Us, or Exo, or what was. There is nothing there except a burst of color. Some out of focus pictures, but nothing concrete I can grab onto,” he fumbles to say, letting Sehun rest his hand on Jongin’s.

 

“That’s fine. You’ll find your way, and if you don’t, we’ll find a new one. As long as you’ll have me,” Sehun assures.

 

“Kai would say yes,” Jongin replies.

 

“And you?”

 

There is thud in his chest, and he never even realized his heart is racing, and his skin is warm everywhere. His body is leaning into Sehun’s chest, and the beat of his favorite practice song thrums in his veins, and the past is unclear, but. 

 

“I think I already know it, know what I want,” Jongin turns, and they’re about the same height. Sehun a smidge taller. His eyes soften at the way Jongin’s hand come to rest on his chest, Sehun wrapping his own arms around Jongin’s waist, “I think I’m willing to try.”

 

Sehun kisses his forehead, fleeting but burning. 

 

“Good.”   
  


\--

 

Turns out Jongin doesn’t remember everything. Some of it does come back in bits and pieces, like a pleasant memory to sit on, sometimes unpleasant ones that leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Though he can’t complain. 

 

He joins the group again in the meantime, learning to love the job is the easiest part, it’s learning to live the life that is harder. The fans are terribly kind and he’s grateful. But that’s not even the best part. Instead it’s the dance studio, and struggling with new choreo, and getting frustrated enough to shed a few tears. It’s having Sehun there to pat his back and saying he did good. And at night when he’s thinking of who he used to be, it’s having arms to wrap around his waist to tell him who he is is just good enough. He reckons,  _ it is _ . 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> comments, kudos, and all that jazz !!!! please and thank you !!!


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